


The New Sherlock

by hulafreaky



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, F/M, Post-Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-31
Updated: 2013-03-31
Packaged: 2017-12-07 03:11:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/743511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hulafreaky/pseuds/hulafreaky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock returns to 221B Baker Street years after the fall. It's only a matter of time before he realizes that his final problem with Moriarty wasn't just the Fall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The New Sherlock

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this little story with my evil little friend. Hope you enjoy.

 

John stood alone in the street outside 221B. Word had spread, around certain parties that is, the ones who still believed he lived, that his old friend would be coming home today. He didn't know if he believed that. Who knew if his flatmate was dead or alive; he sure didn't let him know. Wasn't he his only friend back then? Who knew if he was a lie or not? John paced back and forth, seeing his breath dance like white bunnies in front of his face. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he began to think this was all one big joke. He was never late; to anything.

Sherlock walked through the streets of London, one destination on his mind. 221B Baker Street. It's been years since he's been down that road. He knew that what he had done was a horrible thing for his closest ones to endure but he didn't know what would happen to him if they were dead on his own accord. He checked his watch. He was late. Perhaps these years had changed him. The years alone with nothing but his thoughts, which were truly scary. He turned the corner and instantly spotted him, his best friend, Dr. John H. Watson.

At the sound of footsteps, John looked up, and spotted the unmistakable face. _Unbelievable_. It was him, after all these years, the man who had taught him how to live again. His familiar curly hair, scarf, and turned up collar all remained the same, as if nothing had changed. But John, his face had been further creased by age, more so than most people. But that's what happened when you lose who you called your best friend. When you were forced to believe he was buried in the ground. John stood there, unmoving, staring at this advancing figure.

Sherlock walked towards the short man. He stifled a chuckle. This once young man had aged horribly. He still looked like his old friend, Watson, but the bags under his eyes and his receding hairline showed his old age. He got closer and closer to the old companion. He still hasn't figured out what he was going to say. Years and years, waiting for this moment and yet, no thoughts of what the first words out of his mouth should be.

John looked down at his feet. He didn't realize how hard this was going to be. Looking back up at him, he nodded a bit. "Sherlock," and cleared his throat immediately after.

"Hello, John." Was all Sherlock could say. They were about a meter away from each other. Eyes transfixed on their shoes. Sherlock couldn't bear to see the hurt in John's eyes. He had lied to him, forced him to believe that he was dead.

John swiftly pulled out his mobile to send a quick text.

 

_He's here._

_JW_

He slipped the device back into his pocket. He looked back up at Sherlock, unsure of what to do.

"Who did you send that to?" Sherlock asked. John was still the same man after all these years. It didn't shock Sherlock one bit to see his sister's old phone still in his possession. The thing was an antique.

"I--I don't think that's any of your business." He said with a tremble in his voice at the fear he may find out. He couldn't let that happen. John, like the solider he was, lifted his chin up high as to appear more confident.

"John," Sherlock sighed. "I think already know." Sherlock shook his head. "I haven't changed all that much."

John hoped with every ounce of himself that Sherlock was wrong. He had to be. "Sherlock. You can't just walk back here after all his time and expect things to be the same."

Sherlock chuckled. "I can't?" He said, hoping that a joke would ease the discomfort.

He received a text, careful not to let Sherlock see. 'Gain his trust,' is all it says. "Would you like some tea?" He asked.

"That would be lovely." Sherlock followed John into their old flat. He took of his scarf and coat as he sat on the couch.

He made his way into the kitchen and made up two glasses of tea. The same way he always had, he had a feeling Sherlock was not a man of change. "You'd better explain this whole thing to me."

"There's not much to explain. I faked my death so I could save Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade." Sherlock took a sip of his tea, smiling at the familiar taste. He purposely left out John's name. He didn't feel the need to state the obvious.

"And what, no contact? I thought you were dead. I mourned over you."

"I couldn't contact you, John. I had to make you and everyone believe that I was a fake. That was what Moriarty wanted. And that is what I gave him." He set his cup of tea down and walked over to John. "Please. I'm sorry I did this to you. But, I did what I had to."

"So did I." Just as John said this, Jim Moriarty come around the corner, and nodded at Sherlock.

"Wha— what is he doing here?" Sherlock looked him up and down. "You were dead. I saw you shoot yourself. You were bleeding." Sherlock's head started to spin. He sat down on the couch, unable to stand up straight. "This is impossible."

"Impossible? You mean like your death?" Jim asked. "I had you pegged at a higher intelligence as that, Sherlock. You're always such a disappointment. Ah well."

"No. No. No." Sherlock repeated. He looked at John. "John! Answer my question! What is he doing here?" He raised his voice, hiding the fact that he was scared of the answer.

"He's my new partner, Sherlock," John said, with a new fire in his eyes.

"Partner? Partner! What do you mean partner?" Sherlock yelled, staring at Moriarty with rage in his eyes.

"I treat your beloved better then you ever could, Holmes."

"What are you talking about, Moriarty?" Sherlock gave him a look of disgust.

"I mean I'd never lead him on to believe I'm dead. I'd never do that to a friend, Sherlock." The word friend was coated thick venom it made Sherlock cringe.

"Friend? A friend?" Sherlock repeated hysterically. "John! What is going on? You better tell me right this instant or I will kill your new 'friend'" Sherlock used air quotes around friend.

"Sherlock!" John screamed. "You left me alone! I trusted you. I waited for you. But you were dead and you weren't coming back. You thought I didn't change, Sherlock. But you were wrong. I was so lonely. Angry. You left me a suicide note and jumped right in front of me. I saw your crimson blood staining the pavement. I was so desperately alone. And in the points when I was lowest, it was Jim who was there for me."

"No. No, this is not happening." Sherlock looked from John to Jim. He spotted Jim with an enormous smile on his face. "You." He pointed at Moriarty. "This! This was your plan all along! It wasn't to destroy my reputation! It was to—" Sherlock stopped himself. He couldn't say it out loud. It would hurt him too much to admit that it's true.

"Don't you think Johnny has had enough of your accusations for one day?" Jim said, looking directly at Sherlock.

Sherlock stared at Jim. "You're right." He looked at John. "Goodbye John. I'm sorry." Sherlock grabbed his coat and scarf and fled down the stairs and out the door onto Baker Street.

John felt a pang of guilt. He rushed down the stairs of 221B. "Sherlock!" He screamed after his old friend.

Sherlock kept walking. He didn't want John to see him like this; broken.

"Sherlock I'm sorry!"

Sherlock stopped and turned around, walking quickly back to John. "No! I'm sorry! I'm sorry that I drove you foolish by parting. I'm sorry that you felt so alone and so out of your mind that you felt the need to befriend that monster of a man!" Sherlock pointed towards their flat before spinning on his heel and walking down the street. He got a cab and hopped in.

"Where to?" The cabbie asked.

"St. Bart's."

 

* * *

 

 

John was left standing there, feeling utterly alone. A couple minutes later, Jim walked out of the flat and put a hand on John's shoulder, but he brushed it off. Jim could not provide the comfort he needed. To his surprise, he felt warm tears rolling down his cheeks. It was like he had lost his best friend all over again.

 

* * *

 

 

Sherlock arrived at St. Bart's and walked into the morgue. He needed to take his anger out on an innocent corpse. He avoided eye contact with all the people he passed. He didn't want to be bothered. He pulled out his riding crop that clearly wasn't moved from his hiding spot in the supply closet.

"Sherlock?" He heard the familiar voice.

 

* * *

 

 

John didn't understand why he was so upset about Sherlock. He was angry at him, wasn't he? He had a new friend now; he had learned how to live without him. He wanted him to be hurt by his words. So, why did it hurt so badly that he had gone? Wiping a tear away angrily, he pulled out the old mobile. Was it possible he could have the same number after all these years? He decided he'd try, just in case.

 

_Sherlock?_

_JW_

 

* * *

 

 

Before Sherlock could turn around and look at the person who had just spoken, he felt his mobile vibrate. He pulled it out of his pocket. Yes, he had the same phone and same number. He figured it would be too much work to get rid of it and get a new one. And besides, no one was smart enough to text him.

Sherlock received John's text and replied.

 

_I'll just leave you with Moriarty then. You don't need me._

_SH_

_Sherlock. Please. I am sorry. I'm sorry I betrayed your trust. I didn't know what else to do._

_JW_

_No, I betrayed your trust. I made you believe that I was dead. It's fine, John. Continue on with your life. Imagine I was never here._

_SH_

_I can't do that! I can't do that, Sherlock. You're the most extraordinary person I've ever met._

_-JW_

_Goodbye John. Again._

_SH_

 

Sherlock turned his phone off and spun around to face the person who had been waiting patiently for his response.

"Hello Molly Hooper."

 

* * *

 

 

John angrily stormed back up the steps of 221B. The rage burning in his chest was overwhelming. He turned to Jim, who was seated on the couch where Sherlock had once sat. "Let's get Sherlock." He said with his eyes hardened.

 

* * *

 

 

Molly looked Sherlock up and down. "I haven't seen you in a while. How have you been?"

Molly knew of course. He knew that he was still alive. She had to know, he needed her help with the body.

Sherlock smiled and nodded. "I've been well. I like your hair, by the way. Brings out your eyes." He complimented her parted to the side hairstyle. She hasn't bothered to put it up so it was flowing down her shoulders. Not something Sherlock was used to.

 

* * *

 

Moriarty smiled at John's bold comment. "What made you change your mind?"

John paused a moment, gathering himself together. "He broke my heart. Twice."

 

* * *

 

 

"You've been gone for so long. I've forgotten what you look like." Molly smiled.

"No you haven't, Molly." Sherlock shook his head.

"You're right. Like always." She looked down at her feet as she pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. "Did you think about me?"

He walked over to her so they were mere inches away from each other. "Every day."

 

* * *

 

 

Walking down the stairs, John grabbed his coat and Moriarty followed. "Where has he gone, do you presume?"

"I know where." John said with confidence, just before hailing the cab.

 

* * *

 

 

"Molly, I think something bad is going to happen soon." Sherlock walked closer to her.

"What? What do you mean?" Molly asked, feeling déjà vu.

Just at that moment, John and Moriarty stormed through the door, and all heads turned their way.

"Hello John." Molly smiled and walked over to him. "I've missed you." She gave him a kiss. Sherlock's mouth dropped.

"How are you?" John asked in reply, arms around her waist.

"I'm well. Just surprised to see Sherlock is all." She smiled at him. Molly noticed John's expression. "What's wrong?"

John looked to Sherlock. "He wants nothing to do with me."

"Oh, I'm sure that's not true!" Molly turned to Sherlock. "Right, Sherlock?"

Moriarty stood by the door, watching the scene play out. This was happening just the way he had planned.

"I don't want to hurt him anymore than I already have." Sherlock stated.

Molly stared at him. "Sherlock, you hurt all of us. I know you were only doing what you had to but, it still hurt us."

"He's made his decision," John says, with a mixture of anger and sadness, but mostly the latter. "And you know he doesn't change his mind."

Molly rolled her eyes. "Yes, I know."

"There's no changing your mind, is there?" John asked, looking at Sherlock, sorrow clear in his eyes.

Sherlock stared at him. John's arm was still around Molly. His eyes darted back and forth to Molly then back to John. He set his eyes on Molly. "Why? Why him? You've never, ever showed any interest in him before."

Molly looked at him with sorry eyes. "Sherlock, I-" She wiped a tear away. "I was lonely."

Moriarty leaned up against the wall with an amused expression on his face. Working from the inside was more fun than he would have thought.

Sherlock spotted Moriarty. "This is all your doing!" He pointed at Moriarty. "What on earth have I ever done to you that could make you feel like you should do all of this?" He shouted, his chest hurting from the pain Moriarty had caused him in the last 2 hours.

"Sherlock, I've changed," Moriarty pleaded, one hand dramatically on his heart. "Can't you see that? I'm not the way I used to be." Jim was getting a kick out of this. The only one not trusting him was Sherlock. "Can't you see that we're the same? I'm just like you."

"Just like me? You're nothing like me! Unlike you, I actually care for those around me! You're just using John! And you've twisted Molly's mind so much that she had to be with John when everyone in this room knows that she's supposed to be with me!" He shouted at Moriarty, ignoring the stares from John and Molly.

Jim cocked his head to the side. "Are you mad at me for your love interest’s choices? That's insulting."

Sherlock looked from Jim to John to Molly. "Why do you trust him?" He asked John and Molly.

John looked directly at Sherlock. "Because he's changed, Sherlock. People change."

"No!" Sherlock shouted. "People like him do not change!" He looked at Molly. "Why don't you believe me?"

"Why don't you believe him?" She asked, heart hurting from the pain in his eyes.

"Because, I know him. I know him more than the two of you combined." He reached for Molly's hand. "Please, Molly."

Unsure what to do, Molly looked between Jim, John, and Sherlock.

"Sherlock! Don't! She's with me now!" John yelled.

"You're so selfish!" Sherlock caught himself screaming.

" _I'm_ selfish? You think _I'm_ selfish! What do you think you are then? Leaving us in the bloody dark about your stupid death! You could have told me! But no! You left for years, making believe you were dead!" John screamed at him, shoving Molly behind him.

Sherlock realized that John was right. As much as he knew he was right about Moriarty, he had no place telling John that he was selfish. He must have been the least selfish person he knew.

Molly tapped on John's shoulder. "I knew." She whispered. "I knew he wasn't dead."

"And you didn't tell me?" He asked, tears pooling in his eyes.

"I couldn't." Molly sighed.

"Why?"

"Well," she paused and stared at Sherlock. "Because of him." She pointed at Moriarty.

John turned to Jim. "What does she mean?"

"I have no idea. You know your love better than I do." Jim said, a little too dramatically.

"Tell me the truth," he said through gritted teeth.

Sherlock glared at Moriarty, waiting for him to answer. Moriarty was not pleased at the turn of events. "I'm not lying. I thought you trusted me."

"I thought I did too."

Moriarty looked to Sherlock. "I've been good all these years. After all, you haven't seen me in the papers have you? I've changed. John and Molly and I have started our own partnership. And you can join us."

"Join you? Why would I join a group that involves you?" Sherlock shouted. "Listen, if you still believe him, that's fine. I'll leave you alone." Sherlock walked out and didn't turn back.

"Wait! Sherlock!" John stormed after Sherlock. There was something in the way Jim was acting that he didn't like. And he'd never known Sherlock to be a liar, or to be wrong.

"I said that I will leave you alone! I can't if you won't let me!" Sherlock said, still storming off down the hall.

"Sherlock. I believe you."

Sherlock stopped in his tracks. "Took you long enough." He said, without turning around.

John stood there silently. Not sure what his emotions were doing.

"Jim!" Sherlock called out. Moriarty walked over to where Sherlock is standing.

"Changed your mind?" He asked.

"No. I can't do this anymore!" Sherlock yelled at him. "Why can't we just stop this?"

"Your right, this is getting rather booooring!"

"Yes. It's got a Monopoly feel to it, yes? It just never seems to end!" Sherlock chuckled a little. Jim pulled a gun and pointed it at John. "Ahh, now this is interesting." Sherlock smiled.

John grew angry. "Interesting?! You find this amusing?"

"Why, yes John. You should know me by now." Sherlock smiled, just standing there. Moriarty didn't break his gaze on Sherlock. Sherlock jumped about. "Oh, how I've missed this." He stared at Jim. "Now, what can I do to persuade you to not kill my best friend?"

"A plan." Said Moriarty, with a sly grin.

"A plan?" Sherlock groaned. "Another? I spent so much time planning the last one, which you have to admit, was well thought out."

"I've found a new Sherlock Holmes, and I intend to make his little life better than yours ever was."

"A new Sherlock Holmes? What are you talking about?" Sherlock asked, genuinely confused.

"Another brilliant mind."

"I highly doubt that." Sherlock rolled his eyes.

Moriarty drew Sherlock's attention back to the gun on his friend. He was growing tired of Sherlock's distractions.

"John?" Sherlock asked. "John is your brilliant mind? Your new Sherlock Holmes?" Sherlock chuckled. "You really had me worried there."

Moriarty chuckled. "What? John? Of course not. John's about as bright as a black hole."

"Hey!" John defended himself. "I'm a doctor!"

"Who trusted a serial killer."

"I thought you changed..." John said quietly.

Moriarty looked at Sherlock, growing impatient. "What do you say?"

"What do you mean? Who are you talking about?" He shouted, racking his mind on who it might be.

"It doesn't matter."

Sherlock examined his face. "You're bluffing."

"Bluffing?" Without thinking, he had shot John in the leg. "Am I bluffing now?"

Molly hurried over to John. "John!" She caressed his cheek with one hand as she examined his leg.

John cried out in pain. "Sherlock!"

"It hurts, doesn't it?" Jim laughed as he walked slowly around Sherlock. "Seeing your love _take care_ of your best friend?"

"What are you trying to gain?! What are you trying to prove?!" Sherlock screamed in Jim's face.

Jim put his face right up to Sherlock's ear. "Nothing." He whispered. "Or everything." He laughed evilly as he kept circling Sherlock. "You see, I'm trying to prove that you're nothing but an ordinary man with ordinary feelings. Feelings for Molly, and John. Different kind of feelings of course but, hey, who knows? Everyone thought you were a couple."

"I'm not gay," John said through gritted teeth.

"I'd worry more about that wound." Jim pointed the gun at him again. "You might get another psychosomatic limp." He fired another shot, missing him deliberately.

"Leave John alone!" Sherlock roared.

"Why? What are _you_ going to do about it?"

"What can I do to convince you not to do this?"

"I don't know." Jim shrugged. "Amuse me."

"Amuse you!"

"Yes! Come on! If you know me so well, amuse me!" Jim shouted, waving his hand, and the gun, in the air.

Sherlock tried to think of something clever, but he was, for once, at a lack of ideas. The only things that amused Moriarty were people getting hurt. "I'm sorry John. I can't help you." Was the only thing Sherlock could come up with.

John looked up at Sherlock, fear dancing across his face, white as a ghost.

Sherlock started to walk away then Molly called after him. "Sherlock!"

"What do you _want_ Molly?!" Sherlock cringed. He didn't mean to yell.

"You can't do this! Not again!" She cried, still holding onto John:

"There's nothing I can do!"

"Yes there is!" Molly cried. "You're Sherlock _bloody_ Holmes, for Christ's sake!"

That stopped Sherlock in his tracks. She was right.

Molly and John both stared at Sherlock, waiting for him to do something incredible.

Moriarty smiled a twisted grin. He had finally stumped Sherlock Holmes. "Having troubles, my dear?" Jim laughed. "Have I finally done it? Have I beaten Sherlock Holmes?"

Sherlock knew he had to think of something quick. "What would you do if I told you that you had beaten me?"

"I would kill you." Jim grinned. "And John and Molly."

Sherlock looked Moriarty up and down. "Clammy hands, fidgeting with the bottom of your shirt. Pupils dilated, a bit too confident. Plus, you only have two bullets left. You're bluffing."

"Fine. You caught me." He sighed. "I won't kill all three of you. I'll just kill two." He laughed. "That way, the third will suffer the most. So, who will that lucky third one be, huh?" He spun around, pointing the gun at John, then Molly, then Sherlock.

Molly shot Sherlock a look. "Sherlock, do something," she pleaded.

Moriarty laughed. "What can he do now?" He smiled at Molly. "He's helpless."

"Oh, don't humiliate yourself with such bold accusations."

"That's what I DO!" He yelled at him. John spat at Moriarty in disgust. "Hey! This is a new suit." Jim dusted it off a bit.

"You're ordinary, Jim," Sherlock said. "You try to be so special, but deep down, all you are is ordinary."

"Not at all." Jim walked slowly over to John, pointing the gun at his head. "Wanna try again, Holmes?"

Molly began to panic. "You want to be entertained, Jim?"

"Yes, Miss Molly. Entertain me." He stole a kiss from her and smiled evilly when he pulled away.

Molly was shocked, and at a loss for words. "That, ehm, that wasn't exactly what I had in mind..." Sherlock had gone white.

"But you enjoyed it, yes?" He leaned in again for another.

"Get away from me!"

"I'm not really gay, Molly." Jim rolled his eyes. Molly, disgusted, pushed him away.

Jim laughed. "Fine, fine. Stick with your army doctor." Jim looked from Molly to Sherlock. "She just can't handle our… _specialness_."

Molly, outraged, stood up tall. "I happen to be very fond of Sherlock."

"Clearly not enough to hold out for him."

Molly, filled with a surge of confidence, walked right up to Moriarty, slapping him across the face.

He laughed and kissed her again. "I don't think it's a very smart idea to slap someone with a gun, my dear." He whispered in her ear, pressing the gun to her stomach.

Sherlock, knowing it wouldn't gain anything, but not being able to hold back, cupped Molly's face and kissed her, regardless of the gun held against her stomach. John sat alone, in pain. Both with seeing Molly being kissed by two other men, and because of the throbbing bullet wound.

"Gee, Molly. What happened to the innocent little girl who only had eyes for one man?"

"Are you entertained now?" Sherlock asked, facing Moriarty.

"Hmmm..." Jim looked from Sherlock to John. The painful expression on his face made Jim smile. "A little. But, still, not enough." Jim pointed the gun at John's shoulder and pulled the trigger. He watched John squirm in pain. "Funny, but still not entertained."

"What are you doing, Jim? You used to have a plan. Now it seems like you've got nothing. What's the point in all this?"

"Like I said.. I'm bored." He shot Molly in her shoulder as well.

Sherlock wrapped his hands around Moriarty's scrawny neck, choking him. "What's your _bloody_ problem?!"

"Jesus, do I have to keep repeating myself? I told you a billion times already!" Jim choked out.

He was so broken. He slammed Jim into the wall, rage behind his poker face.

"Ahh, now _this_ is exciting." Jim laughed.

"You're sick."

"Really? You're just noticing that now?"

Sherlock elbowed him in the temple. "Ouch. That's not very nice." Jim pointed to Sherlock's friends who were squirming on the floor in their own blood. "I suggest you help them."

Sherlock hurried towards John. Shedding his coat, he wrapped it around the more severe wound. "John. John, it's going to be okay."

"It hurts, Sherlock!" John screamed in pain. "We're in a bloody hospital! Take me to the emergency!"

Sherlock was so frazzled he was losing his head. He scooped John up in his arms and ran to the emergency room. "Excuse me!" He screamed, and a team of men hurried and took John from him. In a heartbeat, he was running back, and scooping up Molly on the same fashion.

"Sherlock. I'm sorry." Molly sobbed as he carried her through the hospital halls.

"No, no. I'm sorry I let this happen to you," he said, kissing her forehead as he ran into the emergency room, getting strange looks from patients and doctors.

"I was just, John was the only man who reminded me of you. And I was so lonely and—"

"I know, I know," he whispered to her. "I need a doctor!" Sherlock managed to get John and Molly into the safe hands of medical professionals. He then focused his attention to finding Moriarty. He went back to the original room with no luck. Jim was already halfway to nowhere, laughing the entire time.

 

* * *

 

 

The next morning, Sherlock woke up in the cheap hotel. His head was foggy, and he struggled to remember the events of the evening before.

His mobile rang and he reached for it. "Hello?"

"Taking the day off, are you?" Said the familiar high pitched voice of Moriarty.

"What do you want?" Sherlock asked with a sneer.

"I'm at the hospital." The line goes dead.

Sherlock sat up straight in his bed. He quickly got dressed and sprinted out of the hotel. "St. Bart's. And fast." Sherlock told the cabbie. He got there in 10 minutes, paid the cabbie and sprinted to John's room.

John was lying in the hospital, and when he saw Sherlock he smiled a drowsy smile. "Sherlock," he said, speech slurred. He was clearly on lots of painkillers.

"Where is he?" He yelled at John. He realized his tone and apologized.

"Where's who?" He asked, very confused.

"Moriarty!" Sherlock screamed. John was startled, causing him to jump in the bed, and the pain to course through his body. "Molly!" Sherlock shouted and fled John's room. He burst through the doors and stood there, shocked.

Molly looked back at Sherlock, perplexed as to why he was so ... UnSherlock.

"Where is he?" He shouted again.

"John? He's in the room right beside me."

"No! Jim!" He shouted at her.

"Sherlock, why are you yelling?" She asked with tears in her eyes.

"I thought he came to kill you, Molly." He walked over to her bed and held her hand. "I'm sorry I did this to you."

She closed her eyes, and a few tears rolled down her cheeks. She squeezed Sherlock's hand. She didn't want him to go, but she knew she had to let him. "Sherlock. You should go so John. He was asking for you. He needs you."

"What do you mean? He was fine. I was just there a second ago." Sherlock questioned.

"He needs you to be there for him, Sherlock. Not just see him then have you leave."

"You're right." He kissed her hand and walked over to John's room but it was locked. He banged on the door. "John!"

A doctor walked by, and realized the door was locked. Perplexed, he opened it and was horrified at the sight he saw. Doctor John Watson was in a bloody mess on the bed, four fresh bullet holes in the middle of his forehead.

"JOHN!" Sherlock screamed as he ran to John. He turned to the doctor. "DON'T JUST STAND THERE! DO SOMETHING!"

The doctor walked to John’s side, and held onto his white hand. He looked up at Sherlock sympathetically. "I'm sorry Sherlock, he's gone. Was by the time the second bullet had found its way into his brain. I'm so sorry. I know you guys were...very close."

"NO!" He cried as he walked to John's side. "He can't be dead. He just can't be." Sherlock cried, tears falling from his eyes.

"I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault."

"I'm sorry you're gonna miss him. When I lost my wife I—"

"No. Don't do this." Sherlock begged the doctor. "Just bring Molly here. She, she needs to see him." Sherlock sobbed. The doctor nodded sympathetically and hurried to go fetch Miss Hooper.

"Sherlock?" Molly said his name quietly before she spotted John. She brought her hand to her mouth and began to cry. "John." She stood there, hurt. The doctor stood in the doorway quietly, knowing they couldn't stay for long.

"Sherlock." Molly said his name. "Get him." Was all she could say before she collapsed in the doctor's arms. Sherlock couldn't take it anymore. Tears spilled from his eyes as he held the hand of his best friend.

"Mr. Holmes," The doctor said as he passed Molly off to a nurse. "I suggest you do as she says."

Sherlock nodded his head, his eyes growing dark. As he stood up, he flipped his collar up, just before storming out of the room.

 

_Did you get my little message?_

_JM_

_What are you trying to prove?_

_SH_

_You mean you don't know?_

_JM_

_I'm sorry. I'm kind of distracted. You did lodge four bullets into my best friend's brain._

_SH_

_What did you expect?_

_JM_

 

_If you wanted to send a message, you know my number._

_SH_

_Oh but that's what ordinary people do._

_JM_

_What is it that you want, Jim?_

_SH_

_I'm sure you can figure it out. And when you do, meet me there. I'll be waiting._

_JM_

 

* * *

  

When Jim got no reply from Sherlock, he figured he was probably off deducing, and he'd better start doing his part. He punched in the number, and heard the phone ring twice before someone picked up. "Mrs. Hudson?"

"Jim? Hello. Are you on your way?"

"Yes, I'll be over in a few minutes."

"Perfect. I've got all my things ready."

"Would you like me to pick anything up for you on my way over?"

"I'm alright. I believe I have everything."

"Okay. Let me just give Lestrade a call. I'll be right over," he said before hanging up.

Greg was just gathering his gear together when Jim called. "Hey, we're still on for 1 o'clock right?"

"Absolutely. We'll be having a special guest be joining us."

"Oh. Who?"

"You'll see."

"Alright. I'll see you soon." Lestrade hung up.

 

* * *

 

 

Sherlock was pacing back and forth. He couldn't get his mind off the image of John, four red holes in his forehead. Four. What could that mean? He knew now that it's wasn't a random number. Perhaps it wasn't a number. Another meaning of four? Fore? His forehead. Four. _Fore_. What was it? He shouted in frustration gathering looks from others around him. It was right there, he knew it was. Was he over thinking? No. Four. For. Fore, fore. What is the term fore used in? Famous phrases. Four score in 7 years ago? No. Fore. Fore. He kept repeating it in his head. Fore. Golf. Golf? The golf course. The fourth hole.

Sherlock sprinted out of the hospital. He hailed the first cab he saw, and hurriedly gave him directions. His foot didn't stop tapping until he had gotten to his destination. He went around the golf course, ignoring the strange glances from all the golfers.

Fourth hole. Fourth hole. And as he got closer, he realized he'd be the fourth person, too. He stopped in his tracks once he saw them. Two of the three people he had saved by jumping off the roof of St. Bartholomew's Hospital. If John and the four bullet wounds in his forehead were any indication of the beginning of a pattern, he needed to get Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade out of reach from his enemy, Jim Moriarty.

As he got closer, Mrs. Hudson said, "Oh, Sherlock, so good of you to join us."

"Mrs. Hudson. Did, did you know all this time that I was still alive?"

"Of course. I'm not as daft as you make me seem, Sherlock. Jim just told me you'd left and abandoned us. But I knew you'd come back, you've always been such a good boy."

Sherlock nodded and showed a small smile. "And Lestrade?" He turned to the Detective Inspector. "Did you know as well?"

Lestrade stood there, jaw dropped, looking at the man who had most certainly been buried I to the ground. How had he pulled that stunt?

"I'll take that as a no." Sherlock turned to Jim. "Have I figured it out now?"

"Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock," he said shaking his head. "You just don't get it, do you?"

"Get what?" He shouted. "I figured it out! Your little clue you left lodged in John's FOREhead!"

"I don't know what you're talking about," he replied with an innocent shrug.

"Sherlock. What on earth are you going on about?" Mrs. Hudson shook her head.

"This man!" He screams, pointing at Jim. "This man is Jim Moriarty. This man is the man who plotted my death. This man is the man who owed me a fall. Oh, but he didn't mean that fall from the building, now did he. Oh no, too predictable. He meant the real fall. The fall of Sherlock Holmes. The fall of my life. Isn't that right, Jim? That was your real plot, now wasn't it? You didn't find a new brilliant mind. You meant _you_. My mind. You want to be _me_. This, Mrs. Hudson, is the man who took my place. He's also the man who murdered my best friend, and injured another. And he's stolen the other two. And he's killed me. This, Mrs. Hudson, is the man who tried to take over the last bit of who I am."

Mrs. Hudson shook her head. "Oh, Jim wouldn't do any of those things, now would you, Jim?" She turned to him.

"Of course not! I would never hurt John! The man is my best friend as well." He smiled at Sherlock. "We live in a flat together; _your_ old flat."

Lestrade looked at Jim then Sherlock. "I have a hard time believing a single word coming out of your mouth, Sherlock. You led me and Mrs. Hudson and pretty much the entire world to believe that you were dead and a fake."

"Lestrade! When have you _ever_ known me to be wrong?!"

"Never. At least that's what I thought until you jumped off the bloody roof of St. Bart's."

"You're all so _infuriating_! In those puny little minds of yours! I'm _clever_.”

"Geez, Sherlock. You would think that being _dead_ for years would change you." Jim shook his head. "You're still the same old show-off."

Sherlock made eye contact with Moriarty, staring him down with those green eyes. "No. You're wrong," he said, walking away slowly.

"Where are you going?" Mrs. Hudson asked. "Please don't kill yourself again."

Sherlock didn't look back. He hailed a cabbie, and closed his eyes the whole ride.

As he stood atop the familiar rooftop, he looked around, planting his feet on the edge. Pulling out his mobile, he punched in a number. When the other end picked up, he didn't wait for an answer. "You may think you've won. Oh but you haven't. Yes, you've stolen my life. But you've taken it, made it ordinary. You think you've won, but you haven't. Because this time, it's not fake." He tossed the still open phone onto the cold surface of the roof, extended his arms, and soaked in the adrenaline as the air fell around him.


End file.
